Pregnancy With a Moron Part 3

If you just started reading, you can check out the first part of this story here, and the second part here.

SO the Moron wanted to take me out on a romantic date, he said.  He said that we hadn't spent any quality time together so he was going to take care of all the plans for this weekend.

Saturday morning he woke me up early. I was now in my eighth month of pregnancy, and on sick leave and ordered to take it easy. I wasn't sleeping that much as my big belly, as I am sure all of you Moms can attest to, was feeling very uncomfortable and my little Pixie was fluttering up a storm at night time. For some reason I always got my best sleep through the early to late morning. So - it was no surprise that the Moron had to take that away from me, all in his bastardized version of love.

So up I get. I ask him what we are doing.  He tells me to dress warmly.  I ask if we are going to be outside.  And this is where he reveals to me his glorious date plans.

He tells me we are going to get firewood.

Lucky Me, not only married to a Moron, but one that has the romance of a mushroom...

Yep, your reaction is pretty much my reaction. But I try to conceal my disgust surprise, and try to gently explain that I am not really in any condition to be cutting down or carrying firewood. To which, of course, I hear how he had spent so much time planning this, and do I not want to spend time with him, and what did I expect out of him a plane ticket to France?

Funny how a Moron can twist anything. Of course this leads to how he works hard all day, and I just lay on the couch all day long, and we need to get firewood for the wood stove to cut our heating costs.

Did I mention the Moron forced us to live in sub-zero temperatures in order to save money? Yep, even wore hat and gloves in the house at times. Though I raised the thermostat every time he left, eventhough he forbid me to move it past 15 degrees. Yes, he actually used those words, forbid. I got some really deep satisfaction as I watched him drive from the house as the furnace fired up...

Anyways, after grumbling and sulking for a bit, the Moron finally said if I expected to have it above 15 degrees when the baby came, I had to help with the wood.  So we loaded the dogs up int the truck, and off we went...

I think the Moron purposely cut the biggest trees he could find that day. And after an extra long guilt trip and underlying threats, I started to load the wood into the truck. As the day went on, the pieces got bigger - and when I refused to carry the larger pieces (not to mention I had a hard enough time tying my own shoes as a result of my pregnant belly, at this point) he lost it and I picked up a rather large piece of wood.

Pop, pop, pop went my belly. It felt like rubber bands snapping in my belly, and the pain wasn't too shabby either. I of course was being a 'baby' and this was when he pulled out the wieners and decided to have a campfire. There was nothing I could do but wait for him to be finished and decide that he was ready to go home. I knew all too well that the more I asked, and especially pleaded, the longer he would take. Morons love control. And we were miles from civilization. So I bested the cold and pain and didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much agony I truly was in.

Coming up next, the bathroom that never was...